In came the cavalry
by cedricsowner
Summary: After screwing up in a rather indecorous way, Ilsa gets an idea of what it means to be a member of the team.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"This", Ilsa thought, "is highly embarrassing."

Winston had offered to drop her off at her newly acquired mansion but Chance had been shivering in his wet and ruined clothes, blood had been dripping from his forehead and he had been limping. There was no way she could have gone home without knowing he was okay, so she was sitting in the office's kitchen area now, in the middle of the night, hoping her idiocy hadn't caused any serious damage.

What had she been thinking?

Oh, this was so embarrassing.

She wished she could blame it on the alcohol, but she had only had two or three drinks, not nearly enough to claim temporary mental incapacity.

It had sounded like a good idea – _"Come on Ilsa, you can't mourn forever. Marshall wouldn't want you to live like a nun for the rest of your life. Maybe it's time to let go and try something new."_

And she had agreed. There was no denying it. She _had_ agreed.

Only to change her mind in literally the last minute.

In a way she could understand Clive's anger. But to let her alone, actually leave her, in a situation like _that_…. At first she had thought he would come back after a short time-out to calm down, but after more than an hour had passed she had realized that he really wanted to punish her.

Thank God she had been able to reach her mobile with her foot and blessed be the inventor of speech dial.

In came the cavalry. And collided big time with Clive's personal security force.

The sound of running water from upstairs indicated that Chance was patched up enough to take a shower.

Guerrero entered the kitchen area, switched off the electric kettle, poured two cups of tea, put one down in front of her and occupied the chair on the other side of the table.

She couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I'd much rather…"

He produced a pair of handcuffs and placed it between them.

Ilsa wished she would die, right there and then. This was mortifying on so many levels.

"There are different types of handcuffs", he began. "The most commonly used models are peerless handcuffs and Smith & Wesson handcuffs. If you ever get cuffed to something, let's say a bedpost for example…"

She wished the ground would open and swallow her up.

"…it's important that you push your arm towards the person cuffing you. This will allow you extra room to wriggle later. Some people prefer paper clips to pick handcuff locks, but I recommend bobby pins. They're easier to hide, even when wearing skimpy clothes. It's best to have already removed the plastic tip at the end of the straight section and bent it into a modified "S" shape." He showed her a brand new bobby pin and manipulated it right before her eyes. "Especially when your hands are cuffed to different posts. Saves you a lot of fidgeting."

Despite the allusions he was explaining in a very matter-of-factly way, step by step demonstrating her where to insert the pin and how to turn it. Ilsa still couldn't meet his eyes, but after a while her cheeks stopped burning and the awful feeling in her stomach subsided.

Just as Guerrero had finished his lecture, Ames came walking in and sat down right next to him. "Guerrero is a bobby pin guy, but I like paper clips. You can hide them in your mouth, the place where most cops forget to look. It takes a bit of practice, but after a while you can go through four-course meals without accidentally swallowing one." She made an odd move with her mouth, stuck out her tongue and showed Ilsa that she had kept hidden one while speaking to her.

Suddenly delicious smells came wafting from the entrance area. "I figured since we're all wide awake anyway we could do with an early morning breakfast." Winston crossed the threshold to the kitchen, carrying two large paper bags from a local all night café.

"Am I smelling pancakes?" Chance, followed by Carmine, appeared, hair still damp from the shower.

"Chance…" Ilsa got up, feeling embarrassed all over again.

"Did they teach you?", he asked, nodding in the direction of Guerrero and Ames, squabbling over who got to dig into Winston's bags first.

She had really feared this moment. He surely had her down as a complete idiot. "Yes, they did. Look, Chance…"

"Did you pay attention?"

A dangerous idiot. He had gotten hurt because of her foolishness. Would he ever respect her again? "Well, yes, of course I did… Now, what I'd like to …"

"Then prove it."

_Click. _

With one swift motion he had handcuffed her.

Ilsa stared at him, open mouthed, as he took a seat next to Winston and reached for a pancake. Rather stunned, she sat down herself. Ames pushed a paper clip in her direction. Ilsa looked at it, looked at her wrists and finally looked for a long time at this motley crew of strange people fate had thrown her together with.

Suddenly she couldn't help but smile.


End file.
